


Twisted Reflection

by Thefreakoutsideyourwindow



Series: Spooky Summer Shorts [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Gore, Horror, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 13:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thefreakoutsideyourwindow/pseuds/Thefreakoutsideyourwindow
Summary: She wakes sharply but silently, uncertain of what caused the break in her sleep.The very air itself is thick with potential, but for what she does not know.-Luna finds herself in a place that she once recognised but something is twisted, something is wrong.And she is afraid to linger.





	Twisted Reflection

She wakes sharply but silently, uncertain of what caused the break in her sleep.

Gentle moonlight breaks through the gaps in navy blue velvet curtains, covering the tall windows the best they can, specks of dust catching in the soft sheen. The air is silent and still, heavy in its coldness. Furniture looks untouched even though it was used the day before, chair perfectly poised beside the vanity drawer and the wardrobe polished to perfection yet looking dull and old in the darkness. The marble floor stays cold and uninviting, stretching across the room like a silver white wave.

Luna sits and sweeps her gaze across the room, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she ignores the blanket pooling at her waist. She does not call out – what need is there to when it will only alert the Niflheim guards at her door? And yet she cannot shake the feeling of foreboding, of being watched. Her mind strays to Gentiana, the messenger, and she wonders if she has been summoned for a greater purpose tonight.

Standing, she moves to grab her nightgown from her dresser, and ignores the blankets that fall from the bed, mind absent. Everything feels slow, like moving through molasses. The very air itself is thick with potential, but for what she does not know. She steps across the room lightly and silently, clasping the main door handle, cool in her grasp, and opening the door before her mind screams at her that she should have gone through the secret passage, lest the guards be alerted.

She is greeted by nothing.

No guards stand by her door, and Pryna's absence should be a startling and stark surprise to her. Yet she does not react, only to move forward and let the door fall shut behind her. Her feet take her where they are meant to take her, though of even that she is uncertain.

Balmy summer night air winds through the ancient stone pillars of Tenebrae, brushing against her messy updo. Yet sweat still forms and clings at the back of her neck, undeterred by the chill of the wind. The sound of her footsteps on the marble floor overpower the sound of her near silent breathing as she pads along the corridor, walking ever forward to a goal unknown. Stars gently peep out from the navy night curtain of the sky to greet her but she does not look their way, the floating landscape of Tenebrae that she is normally so enamoured with does not even earn a passing glance off of her.

As if in a trance, she reaches for the door that leads to the library, suddenly in front of her. She pushes, and walks forward, and pauses to find herself in a field of crimson flowers. Confusion mars her face and pierces through the smothering feeling of indifference that has plagued her for the whole walk, and the gentle _snick_ of the door closing behind her is the nail in the coffin for her waking slumber.

She spins on her heels, rushing forward before stumbling to a halt to find the door gone, only smooth marble in its place. _What is this place?_ She wonders, too afraid to speak out loud and break the faux silence of where she has found herself.

The floor is earthen and crimson sylleblossoms cover the whole area, yet the walls are marble like that of the palace, though lacking the traditional carvings she grew to know so well. The room forms a cylindrical dome; the top of the dome is glass as if to let sunlight through. Yet when she looks up, the breath catches in her throat, and she feels her hair stand on end as the sylleblossoms sway against her in the vacant wind.

There is no moon.

Moonlight, or rather, light like the moon shines down through the glass with no discernible trajectory, casting the flowers in an eerie glow, yet she can see nothing but an all encompassing black night, suffocating and gaping in its emptiness.

Cold.

Dark.

E

M

P

T

Y

A breath shudders out of her that she hears more than she feels and she wraps her arms around herself, wondering not for the first time where she is. Forcing her gaze away from the glass dome, she looks back at the room with no exits, no windows, no dissimilarities, and walks forward, unseeing of how the crushed flowers behind her regrow and rise up, swallowing any footprints like the red sea.

She reaches the other end of the dome to find yet more unflinching marble, unapologetic in its simplicity and strength. Frustration wells up within her and she moves to hit it but pauses at the last second, as if an invisible force were holding her fist.

“What am I doing?” she murmurs, voice scratching with the need for water, yet another reminder that she knows not how long she has been here.

Letting her hand fall she feels the gentle caress of the sylleblossom petals against her fingertips, the same as normal blue sylleblossoms that she holds so dear. She gives a small smile in spite of her current predicament. Without thinking, she plucks the flower, holding it closer so that she may better inspect it.

Before she can think anything better, the moment it is in front of her she bites into it, ravenous as a thousand stars.

**Blood.**

She gags, choking out a scream as the sweet metallic and partially congealed liquid rushes from her mouth as well as a chunk of something solid soon turning soft. Squeezing her eyes shut, she coughs, bringing her free hand up before her tongue goes heavy and her mouth fills with saliva. The bitter tang of vomit and bile follows soon after, and she finds herself turning from the wall and falling onto her knees, heaving up her last meal.

Shuddering, Luna struggles to control her breathing, hiccuping as she burps and gags, riding the waves of nausea. Her hands press into something solid and slippery that is not the ground, and with great reluctance and sudden need she forces them open, and fights back vomit once again.

Corpses.

Piles and piles of corpses.

Some are stacked haphazardly and neat

around the circumference

like stones

others are spread about,

some s

c

a t

t e

r

e

d

and strewn, left rotting with no real ceremony.

Most, though, are just laid out in rows missing clothing.

Stripped of valuables and anything that

makes, or rather, made them people.

Luna's breaths come out raggedly as she tries to stand, whimpering when she feels her foot sliding off what she is sure is skin that is peeling off something round and solid. Shaking, her knees fold and she falls backwards, bum hurting with the hard contact of bone.

The flowers are all gone, replaced by the sweet pungency of rotting flesh with lightening black marks striking across pallid skin, the masses of corpses filling every bit of her vision, their empty gazes questioning and accusing. Luna clenches her fists in fear, as an unmeaning reaction, and startles when she feels resistance in her right hand.

Dread building in her stomach, she forces her fingers to relinquish what was once a delicate flower and, with shuddering and jerky movements, looks to her now open hand.

An arm.

A pale dismembered arm, with a chunk of flesh missing.

Luna **_screams_**, primal and visceral, tearing her throat as tears of horror and disgust spring forth from her eyes. She drops the flesh of the flower, pushing herself back over the corpses with her feet and hands like a child. Breath hitching, she fears hitting the wall, of being trapped in here, with them, with the corpses, with no way out.

Except she doesn't hit the wall. She doesn't hit anything.

There is a brief moment of confusion when nothing hits her back. And then she feels as her bum goes over the edge, as the corpses behind her topple into oblivion and her centre of mass shifts. And Luna gives a silent cry as she

**F**

**A**

**L**

**L**

**S**

…

Luna awakes much like the first time, but this time she is screaming.

She screams as she bolts upright and scratches at her mouth and her tongue, gagging when he fingers reach too far back. She screams as she tugs at her hair, yanking out golden blonde strands, leaving smatterings of blood across her scalp in their wake. She screams as she tugs at her nightgown, sodden with the blood and fluids of the long deceased, and halts when her arm smacks against a marble pillar.

Luna pauses and, as if seeing for the first time, finds herself on the floor of the corridor leading to the throne room.

She halts her ministrations and makes to stand, leaning against the pillar and ignoring the smear of blood her fingertips leave as she pulls herself up. There is no moonlight to guide her way this time, only the eerie blue glow of flames ahead of her on candelabras before the door to the throne room. She doesn't have to look out to the openings in the pillars to know there are no stars, no moon.

Determined and terrified, she makes her way towards the throne room, ignorant of her robe sliding off her shoulders and pooling onto the floor. Her footsteps are uneven as she thumps on the red carpet rolled out along the marble, swaying slightly as she progresses towards the door. She knows in her heart that the carpet is meant to be blue, but she avoids looking at it directly, not wishing to confront another unreality.

Reaching the door before she wishes to, Luna places her hands uncertainly on the heavy wooden panels. Dread builds in her stomach and a heavy weight presses her down, threatening to smother and drag her under into near blissful unawareness like before. But the feeling of primal fright pricking at the back of her neck as to what may happen if she turns around burns through it, and she pushes through the doors with a sudden mighty shudder, avoiding looking at her hands.

Her gaze is first drawn to the blue lights, only going half way up the stairs to the throne. Tapestries hanging from walls depict strange events that she has no memory of, that she does not recall being there. The blue light, the only source in the room, twists and disfigures the faces on the tapestries, and Luna forces herself to look away lest the bile rise up again.

She takes a step forward and is unsurprised when the doors close behind her with a resounding hush.

The rest of the throne room is shrouded in darkness. Even the large windows are not visible in their current state, rather the only visible part is the stairway to the throne.

Like trapped in a dream with no further way to progress, Luna forces herself towards the stairs in spite of every instinct screaming out at her to go back, run, _run _far away from whatever it is that wants her here so badly. And like before, she feels her body moving without her permission, terror shaking and bleeding into her bones.

It is only when she is halfway up the stairway does she realise that there is someone sat at the top of the throne. They wear a long black dress, closer to that of a robe, with delicate chains of gold hanging from the breast that glint in the dim flame. A whimper of fear passes her lips as she ascends another step, and a set of lights from behind her go out.

The figure's face is not visible.

With each step bringing her closer to the figure, to whatever it is that wants her here, Luna prays to Gentiana, to Pryna and Umbra, to all of the Astrals to save her from whatever dark fate she is walking towards. She thinks of Noctis, of how he would be brave in this situation. Yet instead of filling her with courage, hysteria floods her with images of Noctis tainted flashing before her eyes, flesh marred with the black blighted marks on the corpses, eyes oozing and yellow, mouth a gaping slit, and his father's sword between his ribs.

Step.

She can feel her thighs and calves burning with the effort of each step, the stairway going on forever and yet impossibly short at the same time. She dreads the end of it, yet stopping all the same fills her with an insurmountable terror.

Step.

Most of all she yearns for her brother, stalwart and steadfast though temperamental he may be. She thinks of his sword cutting through the darkness, of wiping away this mockery of their home, and yet all she thinks of him, too, becomes tainted by the darkness.

Step.

Luna searches for the well of resolve she knows she holds deep within her, ignoring the impending darkness creeping into her vision as she sways up the steps. She searches for the healing light, anything, _anything_ to stave off what is coming for her, what already has her, and she finds herself wanting.

Step.

Her breaths are coming fast and shallow now. Luna can feel her chest constricting, head swimming and she starts to hyperventilate.

Step.

The cold sweat at the back of her neck returns, a sharp contrast to the burning heat consuming her core at odds with cold feeling across her skin.

Step.

Her head hurts. She can feel where the blood has run down her scalp and dried, tacky.

Step.

Her eyes remain empty of tears, too terrified to cry, to make noise.

Step.

Her feet hurt.

Step.

Her nightdress is slipping off one of her shoulders.

Step.

She wants to go home.

Step.

Luna stops.

She stops because she realises, belatedly, that she has reached the top of the throne, unaware of her journey. The terror that had been fading under the trance suddenly snaps forward to the front of her mind, and her body reacts yet again and she throws herself backwards, foot slipping against the stairs.

It is only then that she realises all of the other lights have gone out behind her bar two, barely illuminating the space where she stands. She can now see she is before a woman, clothed in old oracle robes, but black where they should be white. The majority of her face is masked by the darkness, but she can see her chin and neck, can see the tips of golden blonde hair so much like hers brushing past her cheeks.

The figure stands.

It grabs her wrists.

Luna gasps in fear, thousands of thoughts racing through her mind at once.

All is silent and still and she is held suspended in her fate, heart racing at the unflinching and unchanging grip around her wrists. The figure does not breathe, she notices, as the silence envelopes them. She smells of nothing, _feels _of nothing – not even her hands feel cold or warm, and all Luna can see is her body and neck, even now, even closer to the blue flames.

Unable to stand suspended as she is, Luna scrapes what dregs of bravery she can find, and asks, voice squeaking,

  
“W-who are y-you?”

For an eternity, nothing happens.

Luna can feel her feet slipping on the marble stairs, slowly but surely, even as she is held in the vice like grip. She can feel herself calming against her will, unable to keep her current tempo of breaths as the silence voice smothers her thoughts. She almost relinquishes control, letting go into the consuming darkness before snapping back and moving to break her arm out of the woman's grasp.

Several things happen at once.

The last pair of lights flicker out behind her in a final and damning whoosh.

Her wrists are released, and the hands once holding her harshly shove her to whatever awaits her below.

And the woman, the thing that looks so much like her, dives in after her, a cruel mirrored mimicry of falling backwards.

And in the darkness, though she wishes she never saw it, never could have seen it, the woman's face becomes visible.

And it

** T**

** W**

** I**

** S**

** T**

** S **

Luna feels herself scream more than she hears it.

She feels the hot, searing pain of a blade slicing along her back, and feels herself crumpling to the floor. She sees a man suspended in the air with a halo of blades surrounding him, despair and woeful longing in his gaze. She feels an alien darkness bubble up and burn inside of her, feels every ounce of her essence being consumed and desiring, no, _needing_ more, _more, _**_MORE._**

And then, she feels nothing.

…

When Luna wakes again, it is slowly and unwilling.

She can hear shouting off in the distance, and breathes in the fresh scent of the cool dewy morning summer air, uncaring. Morning light attempts to pierce through her eyes and casts a warm red glow across her eyelids. Her thoughts are pleasantly blank, and she stretches her heavy arms above her head and reaches outwards, letting her fingers spread wide as she brushes against something soft and velvety, automatically giving a small smile.

Sylleblossom.

NomoonhallwaydarksilentdomesylleblossomscorpsesbloodvomitohgodIatesomestairwaythronewomandarknessfaceTWIST-

Mind jolting, she sits up suddenly with a cry tearing from her throat, tears instantly springing to her eyes. The thoughts race rapidly through her head as she squints in the pallid pink morning, vision blurred and swimming as if her eyes were unused to the light. Exact concepts melt through her head, as if faded in the morning light, and by the time the shouting nears to her, she has forgotten what it was that frightened her so, and only knows she is terribly, terribly afraid.

“LUNA!”

She recognises the shout as her brother's immediately and turns, seeing a small troop of imperial soldiers appearing with her brother at the helm, wading through the field with clumps of stone where houses would have been millennia ago. She stands shakily, shuddering when brushing past the sylleblossoms, though she does not know why, and she races to meet her brother on wobbling legs, tears still streaming down her face.

He seems to spot her and rushes ahead, leaving the troops behind him. As he nears she can see the worry on his face increase tenfold as he takes her in. When she nears him she wraps her arms around him, burying her face into his chest. He seems taken aback for a moment, before wrapping his arms around her tightly as she cries, running his hands over her head and through her hair, none of it hurting at he soothes her.

Slowly, as she regains control of her breathing and the rest of the soldiers arrive, weapons lowered, he relinquishes her but keeps his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her with great concern and growing confusion as he asks, “Luna, what happened to you? How did you get here?”

Luna tries to answer before her voice catches in her throat, shaking her head as tears try to gather anew in her eyes before she brushes them off. “I don't know how I got here. I feel as if something terrible has happened, but I cannot remember what.”

  
An errant breeze blows through the valley and she wraps her arms around herself, shivering slightly in her nightdress.

Ravus searches her face for an impossible moment, as if looking for a sign of deception, as if she had tried to leave unannounced. But when he seems to find find nothing he sighs, and guides her forward with one arm draped over her shoulder.

“I'm not sure what happened, but we'll find out. In any case, you must be freezing in just your nightdress, so we'll go back to the palace, get you dressed up warm and figure things out from there.”

He then gives a hand signal and the soldiers fall in line, marching ahead, to the side, and behind them. The farther they walk, the farther Luna realises she has strayed from the palace, alarm coating her features.

Her brother seems to notice and murmurs, quiet enough for the soldiers not to hear, “It's a good thing I found you before the chancellor and emperor realised you were missing. I'm not sure how you managed to get this far out without being spotted, but we'll have to be careful so that you don't become a greater target of the empire.”

Her nod is minuscule, almost undetectable, and they continue on in silence to the palace, the growing strength of daylight washing away the terror that sank deep into Luna's bones.

Yet all the while there, her thoughts are of her fate, of the Gods, and the war that Niflheim is sure to wage and how they must win. How Noctis must become the King of Light to save them all, so that peace may be restored to Eos once more. She is certain that they will win, that light will prevail, for in her heart of her failing body, she knows that it is all they have left.

She is certain.

She is certain.

She is certain only because she does not know the Astrals were the ones that caused the calamity in the first place.

…

They never do find her robe, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> "FFS THIS WAS MEANT TO BE A SHORT DRABBLE!" I say to myself, every time. And it's now early morning - dangummit.
> 
> Also, THANK GOD for AO3's formatting - or rather, that they let you save your own damn formatting. How was it? Too much or just enough funky formatting for your horror needs? 
> 
> My inspiration for it was partly from House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski which is just flat out awesome in terms of horror and formatting.
> 
> Also also, I finally wrote Luna! Hurrah! (Even though she barely speaks in this but shhhh).
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed!


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